


oh honey, matrimony is real!

by highfalutin baby birb (fevered_dreams)



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Wade Wilson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Peter Parker, Jealous Wade Wilson, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magical Shenanigans, Marriage of Convenience, Omega Peter Parker, Public Sex, Road Trips, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-12 01:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19218937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fevered_dreams/pseuds/highfalutin%20baby%20birb
Summary: Peter and Wade have a magical, monstrous marriage of convenience because Peter has committed the big, bad fuck up, and Wade, for once, comes up the solution.Unfortunately, getting divorced ends up being terribly, terribly inconvenient.Damn those pesky dynamics of theirs. Who knew they'd mingle with magic so well?“You could’ve worn a dress instead, if you didn’t like the suit. You would’ve looked great in a dress,” Wade adds unhelpfully.“I’m not wearing a dress,” Peter responds, and his face feels awfully stiff. Unimpressed, even.“Well, how about I wear the dress, then? I would also look really great in a dress, and the cleavage would be fantastic. I’ll have you know, Shiklah loved my tits when we were together.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i recently finished the spiderman/deadpool comic book run, and i had to write this afterwards, so... here it is in all its dumb glory LOL

The suit doesn’t even fit.

Of course, one can only expect so much from a faux Versace three-piece suit that’s been improperly dyed into a jarring pastel blue. Still, Peter can’t help but wish the sleeves of the jacket didn’t hang past his thin, little wrists so conspicuously.

“You sure I have to wear this? I mean, do demons and monsters really care about fashion or whatever?” Peter asks. “I’d think they’d have more pressing matters to deal with, like those hellhounds that keep drooling at us over there.”

“Of course they care, Spidey! Most of the world’s greatest designers to ever live and mysteriously die are down here, you know — all damned to an eternity in monster-land because some Italian man with a marketable name decided to make a deal with the devil so he could steal their fashionable brain. So, we gotta impress them, or else they’ll probably throw us to the Furies. Or worse: the housewives of Monster Metropolis.” Wade replies cheerfully. Far too cheerfully, in Peter’s opinion, but he supposes Wade’s always like that.

“Furies? We’re in Monster Metropolis, not Tartarus.”

“You say Po-tay-toe, I say there are no potatoes here because Shiklah’s been watching her carb intake, so don’t think about it too hard,” Wade croons. “The Furies try to get to as many poor schmups they can. They’re bored, you see. So, nowadays, the unfashionable are part of their hit-list.”

“I think you’re just making this all up.”

“Come on, Spidey, when have I ever lied to you? Besides all those times I didn’t tell you the truth, of course.”

“Of course. Still, I wish we could’ve gotten me a suit that fit. I look like a two kids in a trench coat with how loose this thing is,” Peter grumbles.

“You could’ve worn a dress instead, if you didn’t like the suit. You would’ve looked great in a dress,” Wade adds unhelpfully.

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Peter responds, and his face feels awfully stiff. Unimpressed, even.

“Well, how about I wear the dress, then? I would also look really great in a dress, and the cleavage would be fantastic. I’ll have you know, Shiklah loved my tits when we were together.”

“We did get you a dress, remember? You wouldn’t stop begging me to let you wear one for our ‘super serious and special wedding’, and then you ruined it by getting it covered in blood.”

“Oh, right, right. To be honest, I don’t know why Shiklah would get so upset at me for asking for her help with getting married to you. At least my guts stopped spilling out of every crevice of my body in time for me to get this suit on,” Wade says, all blasé in spite of the bloody princess dress taking up a corner of the room.

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say it probably had something to do with the fact that you burst into her new home with her new betrothed without any warning to demand that she officiate your, as you called it, ‘seventh and final marriage.’ But, like I said, just a guess,” Peter says.

“Please, Spidey, that’s ridiculous.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Because Wade doesn’t play by the rules of common sense and basic logical reasoning like the rest of them. His total disregard for everything and anything sensible probably stems from his continuous regeneration, sure, which Peter understands — mostly.

At the same time, he can’t say he entirely understands this half-baked plan Wade’s devised.

Though, maybe Peter only has himself to blame for all this. After getting thoroughly dumped by Bobbi and then being forced to suffer through the entire destruction of the world as he knew, only to get sucked through Wade’s purported ‘fourth wall’, Peter figured there was no harm in trying to recuperate via a night with a pretty succubus.

And, to be honest, the sex was really, really good. Maybe Wade actually wasn’t all that crazy for marrying the Queen of the succubi.

Except, no one warned Peter that Jenny was a bit of an anomaly in terms of succubi tendencies. More specifically, she quite enjoyed strict monogamy, and she believed that sex should be exclusively reserved for couples wholly committed to each other til death to us part and beyond.

Which Peter respects. Really. Honestly, he doesn’t care much about what other people do, as long as their actions don’t harm others; becoming both unwillingly and also kinda, slightly willingly acquainted with Deadpool over the years tends to teach a person a lot about living and letting live, after all.

At the same time, Peter knows for an absolute fact that he’s in no position to get married to a demon, even if Jenny insists they must because it’s only natural for the progression of their intimacy and trust. First of all, he’s a huge, steaming pile of an emotional shit storm after his string of failed relationships, all troubled because of his own actions and inaction. Secondly, and most importantly, Aunt May would cry if she discovered that Peter went and legally bound himself to another person by a vow of undying love without telling her about it first.

Too bad getting accidentally engaged to a succubus turned out to be more of a hassle than he expected.

Of course, suddenly getting married to Wade Wilson instead wouldn’t make her much happier, but at least with Wade the divorce is imminent, and monster legal records don’t often surface onto the surface above. At least, that’s what Wade tells him as a reassurance.

“Don’t worry your perfect, pert little butt over it, Spidey,” Wade says again as he checks himself out in the mirror. “No one up on the surface will ever know we got married, and your reputation as the perfect poster boy of the Marvel Universe will remain untarnished. Though, now that they let divorcée’s be members of the Royal Family, I don’t think it’ll really matter for whatever civilian life you lead.”

He pauses mid-twirl. “Or are you saying that you’re royalty of the non-British variety? Because, listen, I may have assassinated a lesser duchess or two back in the day, but that’s only because the horrible colonial past of the British Empire deserves to be punished for all the havoc they continue to wreak even today through centuries of indoctrinated prejudice and subjugation. But, I mean, if you’re royalty of some other country, that’s super rad, and I’d love to know.”

Peter doesn’t respond for some time; being utterly stunned beyond words tends to silence a person for a good chunk of time, he discovers. Then, he remembers where he is and who he’s talking to, and everything… makes just as little sense as before, but that, in itself, makes sense.

“I wish I were royalty. Also, I never realized you had such… strong feelings about Great Britain’s past exploits,” Peter says.

“Hey, I used to live down here, remember? So, I met plenty of the past kings and queens all over Monster Metropolis, and they all had lots of dirty gossip to let loose.”

“I’m glad you made such great friends while you were down here,” Peter says. “Anyway, are you _sure_ we have to get full-on married? Can’t we just say we’re dating or even engaged instead? As long as I’m with someone else, Jenny will give up on me, right?”

“That won’t be enough,” Wade responds, uncharacteristically serious. “I know Jenny. I know she won’t try anything if you say we’re dating, but she also won’t leave you alone until she finds prove that we’re together.”

“And by prove, you mean —”

“I mean the Devil’s tango, the horizontal mambo, the thing parents always pretend is Twister in bed even though there’s no way to play Twister in bed with all the lights off,” Wade interrupts. “Or, in other words, us fucking. She won’t stop until she sees us physically having sex as a sign of our love devotion to each other.”

Peter tightens his lips in a desperate bid to alleviate the terrible headache piercing through the front of his skull. Somehow, they almost always come around the same time Wade does something absolutely ridiculous. Or plain annoying. “So, what you’re saying is that she’ll forcibly look for proof of our relationship unless we get married. This, best is for is to play newlyweds until she moves on.”

“Yup. Gotta hand it you, Spidey, she really likes you, even with your real face and pasty skin. I guess that means you must be pretty handsome beneath that mask of yours.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Peter grumbles.

“I mean, that’s only a guess because you won’t let me actually see your face. I get the whole private identity thing, really, but I can’t say that it’s not a little weird for you to wear your mask during our wedding. Also, I won’t lie, I’m a little upset that you showed it off to Jenny before me even though we have a beautiful son toge —”

“You know, you could’ve warned me about her burning desire to get married before you set me up with her. You sure we can’t just get pretend married?” Peter interrupts, emphatic with every word to make sure Wade stops with all that ‘son’ talk; he can’t handle too much stress before his wedding to Deadpool, it seems. A person can only tolerate so much hardship at once, and Peter feels two steps away from a minor meltdown.

But he has other things to do after this, like figure out how monster divorces work, so he stands strong and does his best to keep it together.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d ever get a second date with her, much less get her to actually sleep with you,” Wade confesses, voice matter-of-fact. “Besides, succubi can smell things like marriage. How beats the ever-lovable fuck out of me, but I guess it helps them. Shiklah always told me she gets more vitality from single folk.”

To be honest, Peter crumbles a little at that. “Of course they do. Thanks for the vote of confidence, by the way.”

“No problem, Spidey. Anyway, time to look alive! The ceremony’s about to start, and Shiklah will never forgive me if I’m late to my own wedding that I begged her to officiate,” Wade announces, and he all but vibrates as he speaks. Whether he does so out of excitement or anxiety eludes Peter, but he can at least recognize that the situation must be difficult for Wade, too. Regardless, he hasn’t uttered a single negative or disparaging word the whole time.

For Peter’s sake.

So, Peter swallows his pride and breathes in deep to get out a couple of long-overdue words. “Listen, Wade, I know I haven’t done much besides bitch and moan for the past few hours, but I really do appreciate you going out of your way like this to help me. It can’t have been easy, asking your ex-wife for help in front of her new husband. And, even if the situation isn’t ideal, I should still thank you for all you’ve done for me despite that. So, thank you, Wade. Really.”

He offers Wade a sheepish grin to boot, before realizing that Wade can’t actually see it past the mask. The struggle of maintaining a secret identity extends even to demon weddings, but Wade, on the other hand, has chosen to go through the ceremony without his.

“One of us has to make this believable,” he had said. And, in spite of his clear discomfort at walking around, unmasked face on full display for the odd gaggle of guests Shiklah gathered for them, he continues to hold his head high with a smile.

Wade continues to smile as he responds. “Come on, Spidey, you know I’d do anything for you. Everything.”

He speaks smoothly with little fuss or uncoordinated inflections, so unlike what Peter has come to expect from Wade Wilson. His expression, too, looks utterly serene for once; during the few times Peter has seen Wade’s face on full display, the creases all across his face never ceased to fold. But, now, Wade’s all smiles, eyes twinkling with nary a wrinkle in sight. Content, and not in the forced, ‘let me just make one more inappropriate joke to cover up my latest insecurity’ kinda way. Just… content.

And that throws Peter off more than any evisceration or explosion Wade’s ever been in.

Except, what can he do? Nothing, really, lest he be permanently married to a hot, but not the love of his life succubus. So, he just smiles back beneath his mask and says, “Yeah. I know.”

 

* * *

 

The wedding passes by shockingly well. Despite the tension between Shiklah and Wade, she really went all out to make appearances match the reality they so desperately wanted to portray. The venue — one of the grand ballrooms of her monster queen mansion — is decked out in oodles and oodles of decorations, both macabre and sickeningly romantic.

A pair of half-decayed corpses sit on one side of the room, held together in a loving embrace and painting quite the tender picture despite the rotting skin hanging off half-exposed skulls. On the other side, a gaggle of hellhounds sit side-by-side in an orderly fashion, bearing jewels in their careful jaws. They tilt their heads to the side in perfect sync as Wade ambles down the aisle, awkward, yet strangely peppy with every step. And, with every crook and flick of their heads, the crystals housed behind sharp, terrifying fangs glitter and refract, illuminating Wade in the best way possible.

Even the guests Shiklah hastily gathered together look on in awe. A few of them even wipe tears from their eyes as Wade finally reaches the end of the walkway. Perhaps it’s because they really do know Wade from his previous stint as royal consort to their beloved Queen. Maybe their excitement in the face of Wade’s ‘seventh and final marriage’ rings true, and _something_ about this wedding can be real.

Or, maybe they’re just faking it because to do otherwise would thusly incur the wrath of Shiklah, and, from what Peter can recall, Hell hath no fury like an angry Shiklah.

That very thought spurs him into motion a few minutes later. He stands behind a curtain, alone, awaiting his cue to conduct his own march of faux-bliss. He peers past the fringe and sees Shiklah urges him forward with nothing more than a single, ominous crook of her fingers and searing gaze; if looks could kill, Peter would be back in limbo, facing a giant Mysterio while Wade cheered him on. Either that, or he might finally see Gwen again long enough to properly apologize for killing her — for not being good enough.

For a moment, he’s tempted to stay rooted in place, just for that. Wrongs should be righted, right? If he can’t do that much, then what business does he have to go running around, acting the benevolent hero?

What right does he have to act like he’s _better_ than Deadpool?

But then Shiklah motions for him to move again, much more urgent and insistent this time. At the same time, Wade turns his head in a barely-there twitch, gazing down the aisle like the wide-eyed virgin Peter knows he isn’t.

God, is it weird having Wade look at him like that — terrified and nervous, as if Peter’s gonna hurt him.

Or abandon him at the altar.

“Well, can’t be the only one not playing their part,” Peter whispers to himself. Finally, he takes a step forward, right before Shiklah completely loses the last ounce of patience Wade hadn’t drained from her, and the ceremony continues in beautiful revelry.

The hellhounds turn their attention to him now. The baby blue of his suit ignites a whole different set of colors than the traditional black of Wade’s suit, and their esteemed guests coo and fawn over him with the same kind of attention and excitement they offered Wade. Even Jenny, from her front-row seat, looks up at him through misty eyes as he passes.

Despite that, Peter feels so fucking lonely as he makes his way down the aisle. He has no father beside him, tearful at the idea of giving him away because the poor guy’s long dead now. There are no cute flower girls or ring bearers to hobble along on unsteady feet behind him; monstrous flowers don’t exactly suit a wedding, according to Wade, and Shiklah herself holds their hastily-acquired wedding rings.

Suddenly, Peter almost wishes he had taken Wade up on the dress offer. At least then he’d have some cute little monster trailing behind him, train in hand. Even that little comfort would be better than the big, fat nothing he has now. At the same time, something like that would be insultingly apropos for his secret, omega self, and he hasn't spent years and hours of painstaking care to hide such things to give it away for something as asinine as his own wedding.

He reaches Wade quicker than he expected, even though the trip felt like it took a goddamn eternity. A sneaking suspicion creeps up at him as he steps up onto the pedestal, and it screams at him.

‘You’re way too high-strung about this whole thing,’ it hisses cruelly. ‘Why are you making such a big deal out of it? All you have to do kiss, get married, and play the newly-wed couple for a bit until Wade hooks Jenny up with another man who’s actually black. It’s not like you haven’t been through worse. What are you so nervous about?’

‘I know, I know,’ Peter grumbles back internally. ‘You really don’t need to be such an ass about it.’

He’s abruptly pulled from his mental argument with… himself at the sound of Shiklah violently coughing under her breath. She glares at him before sending a nasty glance Wade’s direction too, for good measure.

God, they haven’t even gotten married yet, and Peter’s already becoming more like Wade, what with the whole talking to himself schtick.

“Babe?” Wade prompts, and it takes a second for Peter to respond; they had agreed on a pet name to disguise the fact that Wade doesn’t actually know his real name, but Peter never expected it to sound so intimate. Still, he can’t say he hates it.

Which, he supposes, is all he can really ask for right now.

“What’s wrong?” Wade continues, tone almost unbearably soft, and eyes kind. Though, to be honest, Wade’s eyes always strike Peter as astonishingly kind, whenever he sees them.

“Nothing, I’m just… a little nervous. I never thought this day would come,” Peter admits.

Thankfully, Wade musters up enough grace to twist and crush Peter’s words to fit their pretty little narrative.

“Me too, Babe. I never thought you’d ever agree to marry little ole’ me,” Wade says. He gives Peter a tentative smile.

Against his own volition, Peter smiles back.

To his side, Shiklah snorts before single-handedly putting the show back on the road with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

“You’re keeping the mask on?” She asks, gesturing at Peter.

“Well, you know, I — uh —“ Peter stutters.

“He’s a bit shy. Thinks he’s ugly. Not attractive enough for me, even though that’s absolutely ridiculous because my beloved over here is by far the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, aside from Thor and Cap. But, you know, didn’t want to make him uncomfortable on our wedding day,” Wade interrupts, all smooth and shmooze.

“What he said,” Peter blunders.

Shiklah simply rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes that’s all very lovely. Now, can I please begin?”

“Yes. Please,” Peter coughs in a blur of dry phlegm. Now that he’s returned to his general senses, his spider sense has gone crazy — probably because of Shiklah bearing holes into his skull — and a haywire spider sense never feels good.

All in all, Shiklah plays her part with great efficiency and not a single hint of treachery. She speaks calmly, fluttering her hands and incredibly long and sharp fingernails over them all the while; a few sparks and fumes of something otherworldly shine over them, but all they do is leave a slight tingle over Peter’s skin. Presumably, all of it is just a part of the show, but, honestly, he’s not paying much attention.

He just finds it difficult to really listen to whatever vows she’s concocted for them, on account of most of them being in a monster dialect he’s never heard before, but at least Wade looks unfazed by it all. He barely even shakes as he slides the unassuming gold band over Peter’s fingers. Even that small inkling of normalcy helps Peter still his own hands when he reciprocates.

So, it’s probably all normal, fine, and easy to break when the time for their inevitable divorce rolls around.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Either way, Shiklah finishes her speech with a flourish and a pointed glance in their direction, clearly waiting for him to say something. Suddenly, Peter wishes he had paid better attention.

Wade, once again, upstages him with an uncharacteristic ease and attentiveness. “With all my heart and my eternal soul, I accept this bond to last my life and beyond, for that is our will.”

He nods at Peter silently. And, without fail, Peter follows. “With all my heart and my eternal soul, I accept this bond to last my life and beyond, for that is our will.”

“Finally,” Shiklah scoffs, but she doesn’t sound entirely unkind when she continues. “With those words, the feelings that tie you together, and the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss each other now.”

Oh. Right. Kissing. Kissing… often happens at a wedding. In fact, a wedding without a kiss to seal the deal was practically sacrilege.

Peter forgot all about **the kiss**.

“It’s ok. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Wade whispers. He looks down at Peter softly, ensconced in the warm light of the wedding decor. To be completely honest, he looks good like that; his suit actually fits him properly, and he cuts a _mean_ figure in it.

Because Peter will admit it: he’ll admit that he’s always been a bit jealous of Wade’s rippling muscles and wickedly massive bulk. Especially when they team up together because standing beside Wade with his own, slight — but totally toned and muscular in his own right — frame doesn’t do the greatest things for his self-confidence. Or jealousy.

At the same time, most of those previous envy-inducing team-up’s never gave Peter much time to truly take in and appreciate Wade’s physique on a purely aesthetic level. And, aesthetically, Wade looks damn good, all dressed up with nowhere except a magical wedding to go to.

Fuck. Peter’s gone crazy. Wade’s turned him crazy.

Eh. It was bound to happen sooner or later. One does not become a superhero without losing their mind at least once.

So, he shrugs, says, “Come on, Wade. How could I not kiss you on the best day of my life?” and lifts up the bottom of his mask.

In turn, Wade, the mushy bastard, flushes bright red before _beaming_.

“I — alright. If you’re sure,” Wade mumbles.

“Look alive. It’s the first day of the rest of our lives.”

Then they kiss.

The kiss starts with nothing more than a simple, dry peck. Wade’s lips are horribly chapped, and the searing scrape they leave behind leaves quite the impression. So much so that, without even realizing much of anything, Peter has his tongue out, swirling against Wade’s, and _oh_.

Oh God, Wade’s good at kissing. Great, even. Better than Jenny, at any rate.

So great that he forgets where he is until Shiklah clears her throat with a growl. “Alright, that’s enough of that. I think we get the point,” she snarls, nose wrinkled and brows furrowed. “Now get off this pedestal before I show you exactly what ‘life and beyond’ means.”

“Oh — uh, my bad. Sorry about that,” Peter stammers, licking the remnants of the kiss off his lips. His mind swirls; he can barely see left from right, especially with all the lights of revelry around him, but Wade holds him steady throughout.

“Let’s go. Like you said, this is just the beginning of the rest of our lives,” Wade says, and he grins with teeth. “Husband.”

Peter can’t help the laugh that escapes him, even with Shiklah seething behind. “I guess you’re right, _husband_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, there it is lol
> 
> it's my first time writing these two, so i hope it sounds ok, and i hope the story's going well so far! please tell me what you think <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	2. Chapter 2

Wade cuts the cake, but Peter gets the first bite. Like the doting husband he’s meant to be, Wade hand-feeds him a particularly decadent slice, but his hands tremble so hard he gets frosting all over the bottom of Peter’s mask. He’s embarrassed about the slip-up, but their guests just laugh it off amicably while Shiklah sneers in the background.

“Sorry about that,” Wade whispers as he hastily wipes away flecks of buttercream frosting from Peter’s chin. It tastes surprisingly delicious and not at all like monster guts or the souls of the damned like Peter feared, which he greatly appreciates. “Got nervous about the thought of feeding my idol and reason to live a slice of our handmade wedding cake.”

“You’re really going all-in for this enamored husband thing, aren’t you?” Peter asks.

“What do you mean? I’m being serious here,” Wade asserts with a tiny pout.

Peter smiles back with what he hopes resembles affectionate encouragement. “Of course you are.”

Wade’s pout turns into a bereft frown. “You don’t believe me.”

Peter opens his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Jenny bounding towards them.

“The wedding was beautiful!” she exclaims. “Who knew I’d get to see you two going from dancing half-naked on stage for mine and a filthy Asgardian’s enjoyment to your wedding day?” She turns her attention to Peter. “Though, to be honest, I would’ve appreciated it if you had told me beforehand.”

“Sorry, Jenny. It’s just, Wade and I have an open relationship, and I wasn’t aware you had such… strong beliefs about marriage. I never meant to lead you on,” Peter says, and if all of that isn’t one of the biggest understatements he’s ever had to struggle to articulate, he doesn’t know what is.

Thankfully, she accepts without a single complain. “Oh, that’s alright. As long as you don’t tell my future spouse about it, I won’t hold a grudge.” She turns to Wade. “Introduce me to another one of your friends, yeah? But make sure they’re ready for commitment!”

“I will if Shiklah ever lets me get within a mile of Monster Metropolis after this. Either way, I’ll be on the lookout for some hunky guys with nice butts just for you. Still, can’t do that too much now that I’m married, you know,” Wade offers.

“I guess that’s good enough for now,” Jenny says before snagging herself a slice of cake and wandering off.

“Well, that was a piece of cake,” Peter says once she’s out of sight before grabbing a fresh slice for himself. “Get it? Piece of cake?”

Honestly, Peter expects Wade to sigh and roll his eyes at the terrible pun. Everyone else does, so Peter’s grown exceedingly accustomed to the restrained disdain people often give him. Except, Wade laughs instead. He actually laughs, and it sounds like a sound of genuine amusement rather than mockery forged from pity.

Peter thinks he must’ve lost his mind somewhere during his walk down the aisle because someone actually laughed for once.

“Oh, a piece of cake! That’s clever of you, Babe, real clever,” Wade says in-between his fits of laughter. Some of the guests turn to look at them with a mix of annoyance and curiosity, but Peter finds it difficult to pay them any mind when Wade’s face is all lit up and pleased like this.

“You know, I think we might be a better match than I expected. I mean, you’re capable of laughing at the shittiest of my shitty jokes. That has to mean something,” Peter confesses with a smile.

Wade’s demeanor shifts so abruptly Peter nearly gets whiplash.

“Please don’t say things like that,” Wade whispers, words soft like a lone summer breeze in the countryside. “You’ll get my hopes up, and our inevitable divorce is gonna be so much harder.”

Peter bites his lip to stop himself from another one of his rude, off-the-cuff comments that always pirouettes at of his big, fat mouth during moments like these. Because he’s not an idiot. Well, he’s not _always_ an idiot. At the very least, he’s not blind, nor is he willfully ignorant to his surroundings, on most days. So, Peter very well knows that Wade has a massive, capital ‘c’ crush on him. He doesn’t exactly try to hide it, after all.

To be honest, Peter first thought the whole thing was just another one of Wade’s quirks — a game, even, to pass the time while Deadpool temporarily played the part of a hero. Except, Wade’s something like a real hero now, and the jokes have escalated to the point that even Peter knows they’re not actually jokes.

Not to mention, a ‘free pass’ list with his name on it, approved and signed by the Queen Demon herself, seems pretty serious.

As a result, Peter truly does believe Wade when he gets in those moods of his. The forlorn puppy dog eyes and deep-etched frown only corroborate his findings. Too bad Peter has, as Bobbi once described it, ‘the emotional capacity of a half-baked potato’.

So, all Peter can offer as consolation is a mumbled, “Yeah. Sorry about that,” topped off with a sheepish smile that he can only hope doesn’t come off as sardonically guilty.

Fortunately, Wade accepts his terrible apology with all the exaggerated gusto he approaches most things in life. “Aww, that’s alright Babe. There’s always that one poor sap in a relationship who likes the other person more. The reacher and the settler, you know?”

“Come on Wade, that’s not true, and you know it.”

Wade shrugs before swallowing down half his slice of cake in a single bite. “Babe, I’ve been divorced six times already. I know.”

Peter wracks his brain for something equal parts touching and appropriate to respond with, but he can’t come up with anything in time. As usual.

“Let’s just enjoy the rest of this marriage while it lasts, huh?” Wade offers, grinning too big and terribly bright. “It looks like they’re having a contest over there to see who can handle the most shots of Fireball without puking their soul out. Let’s go watch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers because that’s all he can do now. “Let’s do it.”

 

* * *

 

In the end, they all throw up.

Peter and Wade sneak out afterwards in the ensuing chaos, hopping upon their shoddy ‘Just Married’ getaway bike because Wade had refused to get a car, despite how much Peter begged for one.

“We gotta go out in style,” Wade explains again when Peter winces at the sight of it. “It wouldn’t be a real wedding of mine without something _cool_.”

“If you say so,” Peter sighs. Carefully, he straddles the seat before lacing his fingers tight around Wade’s abdomen for purchase. “Just get us out of here in one piece, alright?”

“You got it, Spidey.”

Wade keeps his promise, and they make it back to the surface unscathed. There, they quickly get rid of their decorations, and Peter flinches away hard from the bloody entrails in the back.

“They’re fake. I promise,” Wade says.

“Fake or not, I’m just glad we’re done with all that. I didn’t know a wedding could be so stressful.”

“It gets easier the less sober you are.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Anyway, now that the hard part’s over the real fun can begin,” Wade announces, eyes alight with excitement.

“Yeah, yeah. I didn’t forget, don’t worry.”

“Then let’s go and have our sweet honeymoon!”

Peter sighs, but he must admit that he’s pretty excited about flying off to the Bahamas for a week, even if it’s with Wade. Because, according to Wade, Jenny, like all succubi, was a ‘nosy woman who refused to let things go until the very last moment’. In other words, she’d continue to watch over Peter’s supposed marital bliss for awhile until she was fully convinced of their devotion to each other. And so, Wade proposed also going on a honeymoon and playing the part of star-struck newlyweds for a few weeks to ensure that Jenny would fall for their plan.

Reluctantly, Peter had agreed because, honestly, their plan was so flimsy it definitely needed a bit of insurance. Of course, Anna Maria threw an absolute fit over the whole scheme, but she eventually relented once she realized that Peter being constantly accosted by a succubus intent on finding everlasting love was, unfortunately, the greater of two evils here.

“Don’t forget to bring extra suppressants with you,” she reminds him as she watches him pack, arms crossed and expression resigned. “You know your heats are irregular because of all that radioactivity. Imagine the media shitstorm I’d have to deal with it Peter Parker came back mated to a world-renowned mercenary.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be that bad. I’m not the youngest billionaire in America anymore.”

She scoffs. “Doesn’t mean people wouldn’t still enjoy watching you mess up your life even more. Oh, and here, just in case.”

She hands him a bag. Curiously, Peter opens it, only to be greeted by the sight of three boxes of condoms and a value-size bottle of lube — the fancy warming kind meant to enhance an omega’s natural pheromones, in fact.

“Anna Maria! I told you, it’s just a marriage for show!”

“So? That doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun while it lasts. Besides, I’ve seen Wade Wilson up close before. He’s really not that bad looking, once you get used to the scars. They give him character, actually.

“I’m not having sex with him,” Peter counters vehemently. Quickly, he drops the bag, determined to not look at or even think about it anymore. “Especially considering the fact that hooking up with a dubious person got me into this mess in the first place.”

“You really are a well-mannered young man, aren’t you?”

“I try.”

Still, things could be worse. Wade wasn’t that bad of a travel companion, if that one road trip they went on before was indicative of anything. So, everything would be fine, and, within a few weeks, this would just be another strange time of Peter’s life he would be able to laugh instead of cry himself to sleep about.

And that, in his eyes and terrible track record, would be quite the accomplishment.

 

* * *

 

 

The honeymoon begins by so well Peter thinks he might have devised the whole thing up in some kind of sick, twisted fever dream.

The weather is stunning, the food delicious, and the people incredibly friendly, even when faced with Wade’s scars and Peter’s aggressively large face mask and polarized sunglasses he refuses to take off, even indoors.

“Did you see that, Babe? Only one person has stared at me for longer than ten seconds, and then they offered me an extra mimosa for free afterwards to make up for it!” Wade exclaims when their waiter disappears from sight.

“Yeah, it’s honestly pretty great here,” Peter says. “The food’s fantastic too. Here, try some of this Eggs Benedict. I swear, this is some of the best Hollandaise sauce I’ve ever had.” He reaches a spoonful out for Wade, who accepts it with vigor.

“Oh, that is good.” Wade licks his lips before sliding his plate of food over to Peter. “Here, try it with these conch fritters. I think these might be my second favorite kind of balls I’ve ever tasted.”

Peter wants to be offended. He really does. Except, all he can manage is a choked laugh while Wade beams at him, invariably pleased and quite handsome for it.

“I have to admit that they are pretty nice balls,” Peter responds cheekily. “You have good taste.”

“Try a mimosa, too. If I bat my pretty eyelashes at the waiter again, I bet he’ll give us another one, free of charge. After all, would could possibly resist the wily charms of a face like mine?”

“I don’t drink,” Peter reminds him.

“Babe, you gotta live a little! We’re in the Bahamas, alone and presumably away from anyone you know besides me.” Wade starts pouting again. God, how is he so good at the kicked puppy dog look? Peter didn’t think that would be a particularly useful skill set for a mercenary, but it works wonders nonetheless. “Please? Marvel and all its stodgy, old cronies can’t stop you from drinking here. This work is _transformative_.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The truth.”

Peter lets the matter slide this time. He doesn’t have the energy to get involved in Wade’s rambling today. “You just want to see me get drunk,” he instead accuses.

“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t want to see our resident wunderkind get wasted?”

Peter rolls his eyes. Of course, Wade can’t see it past the sunglasses, but Peter’s sure he gets the point regardless.

And yet, Peter finds himself reaching across the table towards Wade’s half-finished drink.

“Just a little,” Peter says.

Wade’s smile grows, and his gaze transforms into an expanse of softer-than-clouds, fluffy-like-your-favorite-stuffed-animal warmth. “Whatever you want, Babe.”

Peter tips the glass against his mouth, and he knows Wade means it.

And he wonders if he’s being too mean, playing along like this.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything goes swimmingly until it doesn’t.

On the fifth day, Peter’s heat makes an unexpected and extremely unnecessary appearance because nothing in his life can go smoothly. When he first feels the tell-tale burst of wanton warmth flooding through his body, he suspects that the multiverse actually depends on his life going to shit to survive; maybe a huge, universe-spanning black hole will miraculously spawn if he has too many stress-free days in a row. That’s the only explanation he can come up with for this happening on his own goddamn honeymoon.

He shoos Wade away impatiently through their shared bathroom, cursing under his breath as he rummages through his toiletry bag for his suppressants.

He can’t find them.

 _Fuck_.

“Shit, where are they?” Peter hisses to himself. Unfortunately, he’s a bit too loud because he can hear Wade pressing himself against the door moments later, brimming with that damnable distressed alpha scent that always gets Peter so fucking hard when his own hormones decide to act up like this.

“Babe, you alright? You need my help? I’m very useful if you tell me what you need me to do, you know. Comes with the trade,” Wade says.

“No, I’m fine. Promise. Just need a bit of alone time, you know? Not that I don’t like hanging out with you,” Peter quickly amends because now Wade smells positively upset. “I’m just not used to being around someone else for so long. Need a little time to recharge before we go out to dinner together. You wanted to try that seafood platter, right?”

“Yeah, but, I mean, if you want to go and eat alone, or maybe go out with one of those cute girls who keeps looking at you despite those dad sunglasses you keep wearing everywhere, I understand,” Wade mumbles.

“No. I’ll eat with you. Just… give me some time. But don’t let me stop you from having fun.”

Wade’s scent intensifies with disapproval, but Peter needs him to go _now_ , or else he’s gonna start smelling Peter’s needy desperation a la the slick just waiting to trickle down his legs, and that’s a whole other mess Peter has not prepared himself for.

“ _Please_ , Wade. Go and have fun. It’s not every day you get to go to the Bahamas.”

“Actually, a lot of my missions used to send me to the Bahamas. A lot of rich, important people like to visit, and they tend to get lazy with their security here,” Wade says. “Which I think is ridiculous because where are you more vulnerable than within the idyllic oceans of the Carribean? It’s pretty easy to fake an accidental drowning and/or death via attack by a vicious marine animal, I’ve found. Barely even had to get my hands dirty, most of the time.” He pauses. “Of course, I don’t do that anymore. Haven’t in a long time. I know it’d make you upset if I did.”

“And I acknowledge and appreciate you for keeping in mind like that,” Peter grits out. His lungs feel like they’re on fire, and he’s so fucking horny he could cry. “So, I’ll make sure to meet up with you for dinner. _Later_.”

Wade falls silent for a few merciless seconds. Even through the wood and the wall he smells good, and it’d be so easy for Peter to open the door and just reveal everything so he can have Wade’s huge cock in him; and he knows it’s nice and big because he’s seen it first-hand prior.

Thankfully, before he can, Wade finally relents. “Alright, Babe. Just let me know when you want to meet up.”

Peter hears footsteps and the sound of the door closing. Just in case, though, he waits in the bathroom for another few minutes bursting out with a needy sigh.

“Trust me to toss them in somewhere inconvenient,” Peter murmurs to himself as he sets to work going through the rest of his bags. The slick’s begun to drip, and soon his scent will start getting bad. They didn’t sign him in as an omega, however, so they’ll be in deep shit if the hotel staff catches wind of it.

They don’t.

But Wade does.

“Hey, sorry for barging in, but I realized I left my wallet here, and I really didn’t want to be one of those asshole tourists who tried to rip off the local vendors, so —”

Wade stops in his tracks, three steps into the room. Peter freezes in place, box of condoms in hand because Anna Maria is as much of a sneak as she is brilliant. They gawk at each other for who knows how long until Wade’s eyes flicker down to the box of condoms.

Hastily, Peter throws it the side, nearly taking out an extravagant lamp with it. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It’s fine. I told you I don’t mind if you want to… see someone else while we’re here,” Wade says slowly, but the spike in his scent clearly gives away how much he does mind.

“I didn’t bring them because I planned on using them. My friend put them in my bag as a joke.” Peter explains, words rushed and garbled because Wade really needs to calm himself down or else Peter’s gonna come in his pants, and wouldn’t that just be embarrassing? “Anyway, you ever heard of knocking or what?”

“Babe, you know I’m not good at basic human courtesy. The boxes don’t bother with those kinds of things,” Wade whines. “Besides how I was I supposed to know that you’re a —”

He stops abruptly, and his voice dies down so quickly Peter’s surprised Wade’s still standing afterwards. Then, Wade sniffs the air, eyes dark, and Peter’s so turned on he might just combust.

“Spidey,” Wade breathes, accidentally letting slip the superhero nickname, though Peter can’t find it in him to care right now. “I didn’t — I didn’t know — I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Peter says, interrupting Wade’s stunned stuttering. “I know, but _please_ , you can’t tell anyone that I’m an omega.”

“I won’t. I would never dream of it,” Wade gusts. He moves to kneel down beside Peter, only to awkwardly stop himself and shuffle in place instead. “Do you — Is there something I can do to help?”

“No, I —” Wade’s scent freaks out again. Damn alphas and they’re unerring desire to help out a poor omega in need. Wade’s gonna kill him, and he hasn’t even done anything this time. “Actually, why don’t you help me find my suppressants? If I don’t take them soon I’m gonna flood this entire five-star hotel with my pheromones, and I’d hate to get us kicked out of our own honeymoon.”

Peter means it as a joke. A lighthearted haha, hehe kinda thing to distract them from his most recent mistake. Usually, Wade does well with jokes — even Peter’s, apparently. This time, however, he takes it… as well as an unmated alpha in front of an unmated omega can be expected to take it, Peter supposes.

In other words, Wade leans over Peter with a guttural growl, teeth bared and gaze hot with jealous desire.

“I’d tear apart anyone else trying to get a whiff of you,” Wade says, voice low and dripping with promise.

To be frank, that’s not the only thing dripping. Except, now is definitely not the time for that; now is the time to go and find his suppressants so Peter doesn’t have to go through two separations with Wade.

“Calm down,” Peter hisses, drawing on every remaining ounce of lucidity his encroaching heat has yet to take from him. “And do not alpha posture at me like that. I don’t appreciate it.”

Wade physically recoils away from him after that, nostrils still flared but seemingly calmer now. “Sorry about that,” Wade whispers breathlessly. “I didn’t mean to… offend you.”

“Help me find my suppressants and I’ll forgive you.”

Wade nods and sets to work immediately. In the end, Peter finds them himself, tangled up in a pile of boxers. Quickly, he gulps down two and feels himself sag in relief as soon as the effect starts setting in. He’s so relieved, actually, that he forgets Wade’s still there until he clears his throat with a pointed harumph.

“Is there anything else you want me to do?” Wade asks, and he almost sounds shy about it, which, coming from him, is so weird Peter’s mind spins.

At the same time, it’s also kinda cute.

Kinda, Peter reminds himself.

“Just give me some time to recover. Then we can go get that seafood platter you’ve been talking about for the past two days,” Peter replies amiably. Now that he’s not so hyper-aware of Wade’s scent, he can finally breathe and think about something other than hot, hard dick in his ass, and that’s absolutely lovely.

That satisfied smile of Wade’s isn’t so bad, either. “Are you also gonna have some of those famous margaritas with me?”

“We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> belatedly added in some omegaverse stuff, so i guess... here it is LOL
> 
> anyway, please tell me what you think! :)
> 
>  [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com)
> 
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of their manufactured honeymoon passes by miraculously well. Peter doesn’t have anymore accidental heat slip-ups, Wade doesn’t say anything about it afterwards, and the seafood platter tastes fantastic. The margaritas aren’t bad either.

Not to mention, Wade doesn’t try any funny business after Peter inevitably gets drunk off of said margaritas, so Peter’s secret identity remains intact. Apparently, Felicia hadn’t been lying that time she mentioned how she didn’t trust alcoholic drinks that tasted too good.

“I’m just telling you this in case you ever do start drinking,” she told him once as they sat perched together atop the offices of The Daily Bugle. “The fruity drinks with the cute umbrellas will sneak up on you. I I suggest against drinking a lot at once. Unless you’re drinking with me, of course. I’ll make sure to take good care of you then.”

“Of course,” he had replied, fitted with a dopey smile and all because Felicia was quite arguably the most attractive woman he had ever talked to at that point of his life; of course he wouldn’t mind forgoing his self-imposed abstinence from alcohol for her.

Except, turns out Wade’s the one who got him into booze, in the end.

“I knew I should’ve cut you off after you started yelling at the waiter about how you’ll never be able to find love without hurting the ones you care about the most in the process, all while pointing at me like you were gonna web me to the nearest wall. That speech of yours really didn’t make our marriage very believable, you know, which I thought was quite rude considering all the effort I’m putting in to be The Best Husband Ever™,” Wade says as he carries Peter down the hall bridal-style. “The waiter even gave me a very sad look and some unsolicited life advice when you went to the bathroom, and you know how much I hate both of those things. It gives me the heebie-jeebies when people try to act like they know me. ”

“Yeah?” Peter slurs. The lights above him blur into fantastical shapes as he rocks in Wade’s arms, and he cannot stop staring at them. In fact, he gets so distracted by them he forgets to continue talking until he feels Wade struggling to get the keycard in the door. “What was ‘is advice?”

Wade gives him a wry smile right as the door clicks open. “He suggested therapy, as if he really thought someone with a face like mine had never even heard of therapy before.”

“For me or for you?”

Carefully, Wade sets him down on the plush hotel blankets. “Marriage counseling, actually, so both of us. Too bad therapy and I never mixed well. I mean, there’s really no point to it when we’re not actually real. It’s a waste of panel real estate for the more exciting stuff.”

“I think you should try again, if you want,” Peter says. Clumsily, he burrows himself into the sheets. Or, he tries to, at any rate. He doesn’t actually make it very far on his own. Honestly, whoever tucks the sheet corners in under the mattress might be stronger than the Hulk.

Thankfully, Wade eventually takes mercy on his fumbling, drunk self to help him out. He even goes the extra mile to tuck Peter in nice and warm, even if he accidentally raps Peter in the face with his knuckles as he pulls the blanket back up.

It’s the thought that counts, really.

“You really are trying to be best husband, huh?” Peter mumbles. “I gotta buy you a best husband mug when we get back.”

“I want to say you don’t have to, but you know me. I’ll gladly take anything with you give me, and I’ll dedicate a whole corner of my room to it with a nice shrine to pray to during those cold, lonely nights.”

“If it makes you feel better. Still, I think maybe you should try therapy again.” Peter fidgets under the covers, but they hardly budge. Apparently, Wade is also an expert at tucking in the sheets. “Maybe I should try it again, too.”

“Yeah?” Wade breathes quietly.

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s hard to find the time, what with Spider-Man and all.”

“But I think you deserve it.”

“Thanks. You too.” Peter sighs, sinking deeper into the bed. The room around him still swirls, painting intricate pictures born from the wallpaper’s patterns, but it becomes more and more difficult to keep his eyes open long enough to appreciate them as time passes. “Sorry I am being worst husband to your best husband.”

“You’re always the best. So good you make me want to be better too,” Wade whispers.

Peter tries to say something kind and thoughtful in response, just like Aunt May taught him to. Except, before he can, he’s already asleep.

 

* * *

 

Peter wakes up to soft sunlight streaming through the curtains, mask and goggles resting benign against his face, and the feeling of Wade pressed up against his side.

All while sporting what he can only assume is one of those dreaded hangovers.

“Wade?” Peter croaks. “You awake?”

Slowly, Wade stirs awake. Then, as soon as he opens his eyes, he snaps to attention, bolting out of the bed with a sheepish smile.

“Oh hey Babe,” he breezes. “How’re you feeling?”

“To be honest, not great. I have a killer headache.”

“Shit, should’ve made you drink more water before you fell asleep,” Wade says. “Guess there goes my best husband mug and its accompanying shrine.”

“Don’t be hasty. There’s still plenty of time for that.”

“Hey, watch out you don’t flatter me too much. That kinda stuff goes straight to both my heads.” Despite his lightheaded words, Wade still stops to worry away at his bottom lip, looking very much the reprimanded puppy. “Look, I’m — I’m sorry about falling asleep next to you and… stuff. Not that any stuff happened! Nothing happened, promise! I didn’t peak under your mask, even if I really, _really_ wanted to. In fact, I didn’t peak anywhere! I just... “

“It’s fine,” Peter interrupts because, honestly, all the flustered noises Wade keeps making only makes his headache worse. “I really don’t mind. You sticking close was probably for the best, in case I did something stupid while I was drunk.”

“So you’re not mad?”

Peter shakes his head, only to regret it afterwards. His head can only take so much right now, and he can’t believe people even drink when this is the end result. “No. It’s not like I’m the type to get all offended at the thought of sleeping next to another guy.”

“No. Of course not,” Wade says.

“Anyway, how about you give me a bit of time to nurse this headache, and then we can go and enjoy the rest of our vacation?”

Wade finally cracks a smile at that. Peter finds he quite likes Wade’s smiling face; at the very least, it’s less gut-wrenching than his worried face.

“Sure thing, Babe! I’ll even whip you up a nice hangover remedy.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The remedy turns out to be more booze. Fortunately, Wade remembers to pump him full of water the rest of their trip, and it does do the trick. So, really, it isn’t all that bad.

Not to mention, Wade’s so nonchalant about him being an omega that Peter almost — _almost_ — forgets about it himself.

(Until it comes back full-force last night, leaving Peter to grind his nose against the corners of his room in a futile attempt to scope out some vestiges of Wade’s scent because, damn, does Wade smell good.)

 

* * *

 

Afterwards, Peter’s surprised by how sad he is to be back on American soil. Or, he wants to be surprised. First of all, the country’s gone to more shit than usual. Furthermore, he misses the otherworldly brand of carefree ignorance his pseudo-honeymoon provided like nothing else. Even hanging out with Wade during it proved to be way more fun and relaxing than he anticipated.

So, Peter can hardly be blamed for struggling to stifle his sigh as they collect their luggage.

“Was the plane ride that bad? You didn’t even have any of the food. But let me tell you, you’re lucky you didn’t. I shat absolute bricks in that poor bathroom after eating their smoked salmon on a bed of fresh, leafy greens garnished with real lemon. Really, what is the deal with airplane food and the massive, gut-churning shits it produces?” Wade rambles.

“No, the ride was fine. I’m just… a bit sad to be back, I guess,” Peter responds.

“Yeah, I get that. I used to always get a bit moody after getting back from a mission. Though, I do enjoy coming back with new souvenirs for my place.” Wade brandishes the cheap, already-chipped “Best Husband Ever” mug Peter bought for him from a hokey gift shop at the airport as if it were the best damn thing he had ever set his sights on.

“I appreciate you looking on the bright side of things.”

“Hey, sometimes you have to, or else you’ll go fucking crazy, and I already went through my crazy phase.”

Peter raises an eyebrow.

Wade sighs. “Alright, so maybe I never got over it, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t learned a few things.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s grab our things and go before someone grabs all the other souvenirs you got.”

Together, they get their luggage off the carousel, and, together, they leave. They even get in the same cab together, to the driver’s concern because aren’t they a sight for sore eyes, what with the scars and the obnoxious face mask.

Because, somehow, by virtue of Peter’s sunburned brain, he managed to convince both Wade and himself that living together for a few weeks wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

“In case Jenny keeps tabs on us afterwards,” Peter had insisted over a shared platter of deep-fried iguana.

“You know I won’t say no to that, Babe, but are you sure you’re ok with it? Especially considering you’re an…” Wade faltered, mouth pinched into a consternated frown. “Well, because I’m a big, bad alpha. Not that I’d do anything! I’d cut my own dick off with a rusty spoon before doing _anything_ to you, you know, and even though we both know it’ll grow back, it’s the thought that counts, right? I’ll even do it as many times as you’d like, just to prove it to you.”

“Wade, please, stop right there,” Peter had interrupted. The talk of rusty, tetanus-riddled dicks, or something, tends to spoil one’s appetite. “It’ll be fine. Like I said, I have nothing against living with another guy for a bit, and, believe it or not, I trust you.”

The look of pure elation on Wade’s face in response only solidified Peter’s then-impulsive proposition.

Not to mention, even just this one week left Peter far too accustomed to having someone else around. The idea of immediately going back to his empty apartment where he’d spend his nights alone really, really didn’t appeal to him.

And Wade’s actually really good company, when all’s said and done. He was more lighthearted than many of Peter’s other regular acquaintances, but not too much more wild and irresponsible in comparison. At the very least, he made an effort to act polite wherever they went, and that was good enough for Peter.

Of course, all that was especially great in Master Matrix’s eyes.

“I’m so glad you two are getting along so well now,” Matrix says excitedly when they call to tell him of their newest poor life decision. “I told you that you work best together. If I had known getting married would do you so much good, I would’ve found a way to get you legally and magically bound together sooner.”

“It’s only temporary,” Peter reminds gently. “Then we’re gonna go back to being your… not married father figures.”

“Regardless, I must admit that I am sad neither of you invited me to the ceremony. Am I not your son?”

“You are our son! Don’t ever think we don’t love you! We’ll take you on lots of family trips to make up for it!” Wade exclaims, pushing himself so close to the receiver Peter can _feel_ the force of his words.

“Sorry Matrix, but you know you’re not really good at lying. We were worried you might accidentally give it away,” Peter confesses. “But we did miss having you there.”

“I know. Please send me a few photos as recompense then.”

Peter sighs, but the smile on his face remains. “Sure thing.”

They end the call after a few more schmoopy words from Wade, and then, together, they enter Wade’s apartment.

Quickly, Peter realizes that living with Wade is much different than a nice vacation, slightly aggrieved vacation.

“God, I forgot how much random stuff you have in here,” Peter says, right as he trips over a pile of old magazines — of the firearm variety, of course.

“Hey, careful! I’m still very sensitive about the stuff I lost thanks to Itsy Bitsy, rest her smoking hot but psychotic bitch soul. I might have to cry into your bony yet strangely attractive shoulder if I lose anything else,” Wade calls out from the kitchen.

“Oh, right. Itsy Bitsy.” Carefully, Peter pads through the living room onto Wade’s couch before sitting down on his own face; apparently, Wade’s changed a few of his design choices recently, if his new addition of a Spider-Man throw blanket on his couch means anything. “You know, I never properly apologized for all of that.”

“Don’t worry your concealed but probably very pretty face — because someone as great as you can be nothing short of gorgeous — over it . She was _our_ unwanted and superpowered love-child, after all. Not just yours. It only makes sense that we should’ve disciplined her together. Too bad I never got the chance to give her a good spanking.” Wade steps into the living room, drinks in hand. “Actually, scratch that. She probably would’ve like it too much. _I_ probably would’ve like it too much.”

“Alright, vivid sexual fantasies aside, that’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Peter insists. “You — You were doing so well, and then I —”

Wade interrupts him by quite forcefully shoving a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. “Don’t worry about it. Really. I’d hate to be the cause of your premature wrinkles because, right now, you are frowning way too hard over something that doesn’t matter. I was just never meant to be pretty.” He takes a long sip of his own drink, and he doesn’t even flinch away from how unbearably hot it must feel going down. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that whole thing was my fault, anyway. I couldn’t let you take the heat for my own mistake. I’m not that kind of person anymore, thanks to you and your outrageously sexy butt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you never looked at your ass? I mean, it may not be Kim K levels of big and juicy, but _fuck_ is it perky and deliciously round. I could stare at your ass all day. Actually, I already have, during my nasty, private time. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not that,” Peter says. For a moment, he considers asking Wade who in the world this ‘Kim K’ person is, but, if his vacation taught him anything, it’s how to let Wade’s more incoherent assertions go. “What do you mean, it was probably your fault to begin with?”

Wade chugs the rest of his drink, and now he winces as it burns his throat. “Sorry, Spidey, can’t tell you that. Trade secret, or some other conveniently vague excuse.”

“Wade —”

“I mean it.” Wade looks down at him, frowning and expression grim. “I can’t tell you, or else you’ll hate me all over again. I don’t think I could stand it if that happened.”

“Is it that bad?” Peter asks quietly. His cup of hot chocolate feels searing in his grip.

“Yeah. It’s really bad.”

Peter sighs before taking a sip of hot chocolate. It’s disgustingly sweet, but Peter can’t stop drinking it. “Alright. We’ll just leave it in the past, then.”

“That’s what I do best, Babe,” Wade says. He grins at the end, but it’s nothing like the smiles he gave Peter before.

God, now he _really_ misses The Bahamas.

Still, their weird domestic life isn’t bad. Peter’s life continues as usual as he goes back to work as a regular ol’ genius instead of a young, billionaire genius. In hindsight, Mr. Stark’s enough of a rich superhero genius for one city. In addition, with Anna Maria still helping him out, Peter discovers he has no real need for a huge, sprawling corporation under his name.

Though, her continued assistance doesn’t necessarily mean she approves of everything he does. Namely, she nearly throws a fit when Peter tells her of his omega slip-up and subsequent cohabitation with Wade Wilson.

“And you always say I nag you too much about putting your suppressants somewhere convenient and easily accessible,” she huffs. “But look what happened the moment I wasn’t around to make sure you did just that?”

“It was an honest mistake. It’s hard, you know, dealing with such erratic heats all the time,” Peter whines.

Anna Maria remains unmoved by his pouted lip. How did Wade make pitiful look so easy?

“Anyway, it’s Wade. Deadpool. You know how much he idolizes Spider-Man. As strange as it might sound, I don’t think I trust anyone besides him to keep my secret.”

“And is that why you’ve also decided to live with him for the time being?” she asks.

“It’s just a safety precaution. I’d prefer staying at Wade’s place for a few weeks over an eternity with a succubus I hardly know anything about.”

“I guess it’s nice to see you being overly cautious about something.”

“Hey, I’ve always kept my identity under tight wraps, even with Jameson up my ass. If that isn’t a testament to my secret-keeping skills, then I don’t know what is.” He pauses to gauge Anna Maria’s reaction. Once again, she hardly looks convinced. “Look, I appreciate your concern. Really. Especially after everything that happened, but it’ll be fine. Trust me. Haven’t I done a pretty good job with most everything else in my life?”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she says ruefully. “Even if you trust him now, it’s not easy to forget who Wade Wilson used to be.”

“I know. But if anyone can change, wouldn’t it be a man who can come back to life?”

“I guess you’re right.”

Of course, it’s not as if Peter owns annals upon annals of empirical evidence to definitively prove Wade’s new, for the greater good character, but living together with him at least gives him a bit of insight.

Firstly, Wade’s a bit of a morning owl. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to meticulously clean his weapons — after checking to make sure his firearms are empty and other weapons far, far away from Peter. Then, after doing his due diligence, he whips them up breakfast without nary a complaint or question for Peter to help.

On the first day, he cooks up a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, and a few hefty slices of toast. They taste delicious, but Peter can barely get down half of it all before he’s stuffed. Slowly, Wade adjusts to suit Peter’s needs before completely changing it up two weeks in. Namely, he sets down a plate of homemade cherry pie, and Peter’s heart just about gives out the moment he sees it because his hormones suddenly go into overdrive at the thought of ‘big, strong, and virile alpha feeding him nice, homemade things.’

“What — Why this?” he asks, tongue heavy. “Cherry pie isn’t exactly a typical breakfast food.”

“I saw you staring into one of those old time-y diners the other day,” Wade explains. “You seemed really interested in the cherry pie some guy ordered, but you didn’t go in to get any yourself because of the suit. Which, you know, I don’t really understand because I always get chimichangas when I’m in my suit. It’s actually easier than trying to order stuff with my actual face, but you do you boo. Either way, I thought I’d go ahead and treat you to some of that cherry pie you sadly denied yourself.”

Peter’s stunned speechless for a few long, pregnant with twins moments.

Eventually, Wade breaks the silence, voice timid and posture positively strained. “I don’t always watch you while you’re on patrol. I know it’s weird, and, as much as I love watching your ass in action as you swing around the skyline of New York City, I don’t just… follow you around all day long. I swear. It was a coincidence that I saw you.”

“No, I know. You have a lot of your own things to do, I’m sure,” Peter says because it’s true, probably. Not only does Wade wake up earlier than Peter, he also usually leaves earlier, only lingering behind just long enough to watch Peter eat before wishing a fond farewell, only to return home later, too.

He never tells Peter what he does every day. In turn, Peter never asks. Ignorance really is bliss, sometimes, and slowly but surely, Peter’s starting to figure out how to stay ignorant.

Nonetheless, ignorance doesn’t help him in the least against the encroaching sentimental burn creeping through his chest as he stares down at the slice of pie.

“Thanks for this,” he finally — belatedly — says. He takes a bit, and it feels like it takes forever for the first bite to reach his mouth. Then he chews and swallows.

To be honest, it tastes sweeter than he would’ve preferred. Aunt May always leaves her cherries a bit tart to maintain their natural flavor, but Wade’s completely masked that with what tastes like heaps of sugar and maple syrup.

Despite that, it tastes absolutely delicious.

“It’s good. Really good,” Peter says, partly to appease the terrified look on Wade’s face, and partly because it’s just plain true.

In turn, Wade’s face splits into a pure expression of glee. “You really mean it, Spidey? You’re not just saying that because you’re a good guy and good guys always make people feel better?”

“Have I ever pulled my punches against you just because I’m a good guy?” Peter asks.

“Touché. I knew they called you a genius for a reason.”

"I'd hope so."

Peter finishes the rest of the slice in relative silence while Wade hovers over him, like an anxious owner watching their beloved designer poodle eating a dish of their own design. The analogy is actually a bit unsettling in theory, but Peter wonders if maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let himself play the pampered pet for a bit.

(At any rate, the pet analogy is a little easier on his aching soul than a more apt one about alphas, omegas, courtship, and _mating_.)

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, all things must come to an end — the good, bad, ugly, and righteous.

In the end, Peter thinks his weird marriage to Wade turned out to be more good and comfortable than anything else, which is leagues better than he initially anticipated. Still, he never held any illusions of it lasting forever, so he waves it off with nothing more than a small, fleeting wisp of melancholy that’ll no doubt turn into wistful memories within a few weeks.

Master Matrix, on the other hand, seems oddly torn up about the whole thing.

“I thought perhaps spending all that time together would encourage you two to deepen your relationship further,” he says, wearing that damnable frown of his that never fails to leave Peter feeling like a deadbeat dad staring into the face of the son he disappointed years ago. “I’m sad to see you two still going through with this divorce.”

“It’s ok, kiddo. Just because your two dads are getting divorced, doesn’t mean we still aren’t a family,” Wade coos.

Peter rolls his eyes behind his mask, but the weight behind the motion feels different than usual. Thankfully, no one can see if he falters.

“He’s right,” Peter adds, voice far away and strange to his own ears. “We’ll just go back to the way we were before.”

Matrix frowns harder. “Back to the when you two fought all the time simply because you refused to communicate with each other openly and honestly?”

“The before after that,” Peter amends hastily.

Matrix just sighs. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

“And this time we’ll finally go on that picnic I promised you. Just gotta find a time when all our schedules and stars align,” Wade adds. He grins as he speaks, but the look in his eyes doesn’t match.

It really is like a real divorce, Peter thinks, feelings and all.

Regardless, Matrix makes no attempt to stop them from meeting Shiklah for what Peter hopes is his last time. She stares down at them with the only expression Peter knows from her — unimpressed disdain — before gesturing them towards the basin of suspect green liquid in front of her.

“You won’t tell Jenny about this, right?” Wade asks her.

It should be impossible, but Shiklah manages to scowl even harder. “As if I want to get involved with you two any further.”

Ouch but also yay.

Without another word, she begins the divorce ceremony. She instructs them to dip their hands into the vat of green whatever together, before pulling each of their hands out one at a time, careful to not let them touch. Meanwhile, she chants something arcane under her breath in a long, breathless litany. Her words leave the tips of Peter’s fingertips tingling, and he almost wishes he could just brush them up against Wade’s to ease the sensation.

Then, suddenly, it stops.

Shiklah frowns again, this time in confusion.

“Is… Is everything alright?” Peter asks slowly, careful to not accidentally offend her lest she send her monster army up to the surface against humankind again. He can only handle so much drama for one day, after all, even as Spider-Man.

“No,” she says simply, like an afterthought wrought with plenty of thought. “It would seem that I, for reasons beyond my understanding, cannot undo your union.”

“Oh,” Wade and Peter breathe simultaneously, right as Matrix whispers a not-so-quiet “Excellent!” behind them.

Well. At least someone’s pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly just wanted to write some kinda domestic bliss between these two before drama started haha
> 
> as always, please tell me what you think :)
> 
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